Five Conversations Tracy Quartermaine Never Had
by DebbieB
Summary: Things that should have been said, might have been said, or never got said. With Lulu, Luke, Dillon, Edward, and Ned.


_I. Lulu, in the hospital_

She looks like death warmed over. Her skin is so pale, and her hair is matted with perspiration. Lulu is a far cry from the gum-snapping malcontent who wormed her way into the Quartermaine mansion back in November.

She seems fragile, and Tracy fears fragile.

"Your father is doing everything he can to help you," Tracy whispers, knowing the girl is not listening. Skye sleeps behind her, an appropriate place for the woman who has been such a pain in her ass.

Tracy knows Skye isn't listening, either, so she continues. "He wants to be with you right now, but—well, they're testing something with his blood." She holds her breath. It's strange, talking to this girl, this Laura-child, this constant reminder of what she and Luke will never share. She wants to get up, to brush off her pants and go away, go to the coffee shop or to the chapel or on the roof—anywhere but this sick place that reminds her of ghosts and demons.

"He's going to fix it, Lulu," she whispers, stroking a lock of damp hair from her forehead. "You know he will. Luke Spencer always gets what he goes for, and he's not going to let you die."

She hates the hospital. She hates the outfit she's been wearing for too long now.

She hates watching children in the hospital.

She remembers Dillon, born too soon, so tiny and fragile. She can't see any difference today; her tall, handsome son and that struggling premature baby.

Lulu stirs in her sleep, and Tracy remembers absently how she always wanted a daughter.

_II. Luke Spencer, in a seedy hotel on the bad side of town._

"I swear, Spanky, I thought you knew."

She's angry, and she has to fight to keep from hitting him. Luke is still dressed in his suit, although the flower he put in his label is crushed and withered. He walks gingerly, from the fall.

She wishes he would have broken something.

"I sent you a text message," he says. He senses her anger, her hurt, although she can tell he doesn't understand.

Luke is clueless, sometimes. Tracy is used to clueless. She pulls out her cell to check his story. The room he's in smells funny, like mold, and she doesn't really want to sit on the bed next to him. But he's pulled her down and there she sits, reading the string of letters coming over her phone.

"D-B-L-hyphen-small-T. Period." She rolls her eyes. Used to be people wrote in English. God bless these modern times, she thinks, and continues reading in that special tone of sarcasm only Luke can elicit. "M-T-space. M-E-space. H-S-space." She stares at him. "Period."

Luke returns her stare, as if not comprehending the problem. He leans over and points to the text. "D-B-L-hyphen-small-T. Double-cross."

She glares at him.

"M-T-space. M-E-space. Meet me. H-S-space. Haunted Star." His expression is incredulous, like he can't understand how someone with Tracy's intelligence could possibly not get it. "Period."

Tracy shakes her head. Double-cross. Meet me at the Haunted Star. The text message had been sent _before_ Luke had made his escape from the vow renewal.

"I never meant to hurt you, Spanky," he says, putting his hand on her knee.

She knows he's sincere, knows he means it, and that he actually believes it. He's still on the run. He's still wanted by the Maarkam Islands authorities. He's still going to rescue Holly.

But he never meant to hurt her. She knows it isn't enough.

_III. Dillon, in the room over Kelly's._

The letter is addressed to him. She could have sent it by courier, or gotten Lulu to bring it to him. The letter is an indictment, another reminder of what she's lost.

A thousand years ago, she swore to Paul that he'd never see his son again.

A thousand years ago, she swore she'd keep Dillon safe, that she'd be a mother to him, that she'd never let him go.

A thousand years ago, she'd been another person. And so had Dillon.

She thinks about hotel rooms, hastily rented studios in the leaner times. About how many times she stood just outside doors, bracing herself, grounding herself, preparing herself to go in and talk to her baby boy.

Times when money was so scarce she had to beg and borrow and blackmail just to get enough to keep a roof over their heads. Times where she was feeling so lost, so frightened, so dirty in her shame and failure that she couldn't bear to look into his little trusting eyes. When just seeing him, curled up in his bed, his little body tangled into hotel sheets or the furnished studio equivalent, his beautiful face bathed in the glow of yet another black and white movie flickering on the tv screen.

It seems so long ago. Tracy steels herself, and knocks on the door.

When he opens it, so tall now that she has to look up to see into his eyes, his expression sours. It rips like a knife through her heart, and she has to push her feet into the floor to keep herself from falling into his arms, begging him to come home, begging him to be her little gentleman again.

"What do you want?" His voice is cold. Angry.

She shows him the letter. "Your college fees are due in two weeks," she says, surprised by the coolness of her voice. She expects something more tremulous. "You know, there's only one way I'm going to pay this."

He smiles, and Tracy Quartermaine finds it the most horrifying, ugly expression she could ever imagine on her son's face. "Don't bother," he says. He takes the letter from her hand and, without another word, slams the door in her face.

_IV. Edward, on the morning of her vow renewal._

"Yes, Daddy," she says in the phone. "Yes, I know you're busy. I understand. I was just hoping you might—yes, Daddy. Yes, I know."

She pauses for a moment, looking at the white dress she's wearing. It's a bit much, she thinks, too frilly for a woman her age.

When she married Paul, she looked amazing.

"I know, Daddy. No, Daddy, I'm not going to…" She bites her lip. He's not letting her talk now. He's not listening to her.

He never listens to her.

"Luke and I are going through with this, Daddy." She waits, and breathes in deeply. It's too hard. It's too hard, now that Mother is gone, and she knows as he rants on about how Luke is embarrassing the family and how if she cared anything about the family she'd divorce him, give him the fifteen million, that he's never going to be any different.

And she will never be any different to him, either.

"Yes, Daddy," she whispers into the phone. The dress would look beautiful on a younger woman. "I'll see you when you get home."

_V. Ned, after Luke has vanished._

She's drinking when he walks in.

It's not like he hasn't seen her drink before, and she offers him a glass. Ned doesn't refuse, although perhaps he thinks he might want to. Perhaps he thinks he needs his wits about him.

"You're slipping,' he murmurs into his scotch. "Ten years ago, five years ago, you would have never let Luke get away with it."

She says nothing. There's nothing left to say between them. They've come too far, and done too much, to have any real words left. She wishes, in an absent way, that he would have been nicer to her. She wishes, in a way she knows is foolish and naïve, that they could have been mother and son in a way that actually had any real significance.

Instead, they trade barbs over alcoholic beverages.

"I never doubted for a minute that he would bolt," she lies, and pours herself another drink.

End


End file.
